


Our Cathedral Is The Badlands

by grimparadigms



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I will add tags as I go, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mentions of past abuse, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lots of snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimparadigms/pseuds/grimparadigms
Summary: They tear each other apart in the name of love because they never learned how to use their bludgeoning hands for healing.A collection of oneshots for Jack/Nisha as they venture the badlands.





	1. Our Cathedral Is The Badlands

**Author's Note:**

> Jack finds himself wandering the wastelands as a wanted man.

He had known this part of the badlands was far from any designated zones of safety. Out here, the lands were harsh and the bandits shot at anything that breathed, which was typical. How he managed to make it this far without any bullet wounds was an amazing feat— a miracle even. The badlands, for all their gruesome sandy mysteries, remained the bleakest yet safest sanctuary for those who needed to hide. If you wanted to disappear at all, then you ventured deep into the sandy abyss and hoped that you could survive the terrain for at least a night.

Luckily, he was well versed in using his quick wit to save him from stabbings and the occasional shootout. It was an odd day when he managed to swiftly move through the desolate desert without catching the eye of any predator — animal or human.

When he saw the humble building — _somewhat decent pile of crap_ — with a crooked sign that read “Fuck Off”, he was merely amused that a bandit had learned how to spell. That was enough of a reason to linger around the building, coated in enough dirt and grime that no amount of cleaning could ever restore whatever it used to look like. He suspected an old Atlas outpost based on the steel plating that outlined the cracking concrete.

He walked the length of the building; two stories, one horribly gated window, and a front door that he could possibly break with one feeble kick. The odds that it was occupied were fairly high but he remained cautiously optimistic, finding the perfect spot to watch for signs of life.

So he sat for an hour which bled into four more and when the blistering temperatures began to dip with the the retreating sun, he threw away rationality in favor of curiosity.

He had seated himself on the ledge of a fifteen-foot rock a quarter-mile quest from the building of interest. Climbing the damned thing had been a pain and it wasn’t an easy feat to make his way back to the ground. But if his instincts were right, then he had a limited amount of time to sift through whatever was hiding away in there.

The door to the building was as weak as he had guessed, stumbling off its hinges when he shoved hard with his shoulder. He was greeted with an awful smell, his hands covered his mouth and nose to hinder as much of it as he could.

It was clear that someone _had_ been living in squalor. Piles of trash sat in the corners, broken concrete scattered across the floor, and furniture that was now mostly scraps were the most sanitary things in the place, which didn’t say much _at all_. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there were dead spiderants decaying beneath the piles of trash.

He stepped carefully, following the blinking yellow lights that dangled from the ceiling, noticing that whoever had been living here had attempted to create a path. It was a pretty miserable attempt, considering that with each step he felt that he was inviting death via air poisoning.

There were clearly more livable spots: a chair with a broken leg sat in wait for some fool to sit their ass down and become caked in dust, a suspicious looking oven sat undisturbed two feet from the stairs with cast iron kitchenware atop it, and newly built wooden stairs that led to the second level.

Whoever lived here could’ve abandoned this pit of germs for the mere smell alone and he wouldn’t have blamed them. The idiocy of bandits reached levels that even he couldn’t comprehend, so the old homeowner could have simply been murdered a day earlier for all he knew. He certainly didn’t give a shit either way.

He was here for one reason only anyway: to find something valuable that he could sell to the next idiot he saw for the steepest price imaginable.

Everyone had to make a living out here and as long as he was going to be surviving in this pit of sandy hell, he’d do whatever he had too.

He hurried up the stairs and happened across a stained mattress with a torn sheet he suspected was a blanket. He stepped across the mattress with a noise of disgust and avoided stepping on anything that seemed suspect. He saw the safe in the corner and couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“What a _fucking_ idiot,” he laughed to himself, crossing the room and bending down to look closer at the steel safe. Whoever had been using it hadn’t even properly locked it. He glanced around the room for something strong enough to smash against the lock and found a throwaway rifle— Vladof— he tried to stifle an eye-roll as he slammed the stock of the gun into the lock. It took him barely an effort at all to break it open and toss the gun aside.

Only _he_ could ever be this lucky. He never had to bother underestimating his opponents because they all proved _every single time_ that they were as incompetent as he had thought. This was the precise reason he had survived this long.

“Jack-friggen’-pot.”

There were stacks of cash; crisp bills neatly piled together and a folded piece of paper in front. He grabbed for the paper, expecting to see some stupid written warning, and he wasn’t wrong.

The old, yellowing paper had an oddly painted picture on it. He stared at it for a second longer, feeling like he should have recognized it. Someone had taken the time to draw a purple skull with guns to replace crossbones with a cowboy hat resting atop the skull. He smirked at the paper, tempted to waste energy just tearing it to shreds. If it had been some tactic meant to intimidate him, it had failed. He let the paper fall to his side, reaching back in the safe to grab for the cash when he suddenly felt pressure against the base of his skull.

“Well, howdy partner.”

A smoky feminine voice rang out behind him, and he swallowed slowly when he realized that he’d walked right into her trap. When he saw the safe, he hadn’t bothered to check the rest of the dimly lit building. Nothing could ever be easy or convenient on Pandora.

He tried to turn his head to look back at her but she shoved the barrel of her gun harder into his head and he winced.

“Hands up,” she commanded and he clenched his teeth, complying. “Stand up real slow for me.”

“Listen, I wa—”

She cut him off by twirling him around and shoving him against the nearby wall. Her forearm pressed against the base of his neck and her other hand held a silver revolver that she pressed directly into his chest.

_Of course, it’s a fucking Jacobs_.

“Guess it’s my lucky friggen’ day,” he said dryly.

The mystery girl only gave him a devilish smile, her eyes the color of the sandy desert he had just struggled through an hour earlier. She held his gaze long enough to make him feel faintly uncomfortable and he had to turn his gaze to her gun instead.

“Really planning to kill me with that little thing?”

She laughed, her thumb on the hammer of her revolver, letting it snap back with clarity. She’d really shoot him here, in this germ pit of misery. Now when he looked at her, he felt the smallest bit of fear.

She was the dark mistress of the badlands and he should have recognized her symbol when he first saw it. She was the pistol-packing gunslinger that could kill you at a 100 yards with her eyes closed.

“I’ve killed with a lot smaller for a lot less,” she offered with a sly smile. This was clearly a woman that fed off of fear alone and he, for one, was not going to give her the satisfaction.

“Listen cupca—”

“Nisha,” she corrected.

“Sure, whatever. _Nisha_. For whatever reason, you think I’m worth killing, but I can’t die.”

“Everyone dies, Jack.”

That caught him off-guard. He hadn’t offered her his name and the suspicious sneer that remained on her face made the situation feel more personal than a failed robbery.

“Lemme clarify,” he cleared his throat. “I _refuse_ to die.”

“Wow. Never heard that one before.”

He forced himself to hold back a backhanded comment about her level of snark, but decided that his will to live was more important than trying to stir more trouble. But she was pressing the gun hard enough into his chest that it was certainly going to leave a bruise.

He ran through coercion tactics in his head and flat-out lies that might get her to loosen her grip. Someone of her size shouldn’t have been able to hold him in place so tightly and with such little effort.

“Wanna lower that gun? I’m not armed, lady.”

“Nah.”

_What the hell was her problem?_ He hadn’t even had a chance to take even a dollar from her.

And then suddenly with a level of finesse that didn’t befit a bandit, she shifted the hammer of the gun back into place and pulled the gun a few inches from his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief but the moment was short-lived. When she quickly holstered her gun, she used her free hand to instead pat him down.

She swept her hands across his chest slowly, reveling in each uncomfortable sound he made as her hands worked lower.

“You’re enjoying this. I can tell.”

“Yup,” she replied casually, her hands digging deep into his pockets before swiping down his jeans. Every movement was deliberate and he was painfully aware of every touch.

When she was finally done, she held up the small device that had been tucked away in his back jean pocket.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know. Junk? I was gonna sell it,” he lied. There was no fucking way in hell he was going to tell her what she was actually holding.

“Looks kinda like a computer chip to me.”

“Uhhh, cool?”

“You won’t be getting this back,” was all she said before shoving it into her own pocket. His lips twitched in an effort not to snarl.

For such an attractive bandit, she sure knew how to push his buttons.

Clearly enjoying her moment of dominance, she reached for a pair of handcuffs that dangled from her waistband. She immediately grabbed for his raised wrists and snapping the handcuffs on with ease. He stared down at his bound wrists.

“Handcuffs already, huh? Didn’t want to buy me a drink first?”

“One drink is all it takes, huh?” She laughed. “Didn’t realize you were so easy.”

She gave a tug on the linking chain of the cuffs and he winced.

“I can make ‘em tighter if you want,” she gave him a roguish smile, her index finger lingering on the chain and giving it another tug.

“Y’know, it definitely isn’t a good day if my circulation hasn’t been cut off at least once.”

She made a sound of approvement, “My kind of guy.”

The longer the situation went on for, the bleaker it was becoming. She had claimed complete control of him, and she seemed leagues more intelligent than any bandit he’d happened across before. Worse, she was completely aware of who he was and that made her incredibly dangerous.

“C’mon, smart guy.” She shoved him in front of her, pulling out her gun again and pressing it into his lower back, nudging him forward. He kicked the garbage out his path, grunting when she pushed him towards the stairs with more aggression.

He couldn’t take a few steps far enough from her before she had quickly closed any distance. It wasn’t until they finally escaped the dismal building and found the fresh, desert air that she finally returned her gun to its natural spot on her waist.

“So… how long do I have to wear these?” He held up his wrists, hoping that there was at least a small part of her that would feel nice enough to remove his shackles. He considered appealing to her better nature, but he suspected that would _never_ happen because it didn’t exist.

“It’s a precaution.” She rested her hand on her cocked hip, licking her purple lips. “Besides, you look good in those.”

“I’d look _even better_ with them off.”

She snorted. Somehow out here, she cast an even starker silhouette— striking enough that he felt himself shiver. It had been hard to get a good look at her in the shadowed room when she caught him. But now he saw her black hair curling around her face as she brushed strands from her eyes, the ones that seemed to glow under the glow of the moon.

“So, what’re you, a bounty hunter?”

She stared at him with curious eyes before simply replying, “Just a girl who likes money.”

If it was money that she wanted, then that was an angle he could work with.

“I dunno how much they offered you to track me down, but I can offer you three times that to let me go.”

“That’s big talk for a guy with no weapons _and_ no money.” She seemed to match his level of cockiness and he felt the need to assert his own dominance. But she cut him off before he had a chance. “Don’t even try to sell me a lame story. You’re the idiot that walked right into my trap for a thousand bucks.”

“Uh, maybe I wasn’t here for the money.”

“You were breaking into a safe — _my_ safe.”

“Yeah, look — I get it. You’re the one with the gun here. You need cash? Well you’re in friggen’ luck because I’ve got tons stashed away. I lead you to the stash, you take however much you want, and we never have to see each other again.”

“That ever work before?”

“Huh?”

She took a step forward, pushing the tip of her hat upwards with her index finger so that she could examine him closer. This time when she parted her lips he could smell a hint of alcohol on her breath.

“After falling into my trap, you think you can lead me into yours— which is cute. Dunno how many morons that worked on before, but your luck’s run dry this time.” She pulled on his handcuffs for good measure, pulling him in even closer. He shouldn’t have felt so profoundly attracted to someone so dangerous. “Now let’s get moving, cowboy.”

“Where the hell are we going?” He complained as soon as she steered him away from the building and out towards the dunes in the west.

“Away from here.”

He considered all the possibilities of escaping as they walked. He _could_ just start running and hope that she wouldn’t shoot and if she did, then hopefully she’d miss. But if the rumors he’d heard about her were even half true, then she’d never miss and he’d die out here at her hands. The other option was to try and gain her trust and shift the situation in his favor. The latter at least seemed more promising.

The dusting wind that swept over them felt bruising as she pushed him onwards. A quarter mile of silence felt deafening as they crossed the stretch of endless sand. The broken red rocks felt miles away, creating monstrous shadows in the night. He didn’t know whether to be more afraid of his captor or the things hiding out there beyond what he could see.

“Sooo….” He began, kicking up sand as he walked. Being a shackled prisoner strung along by some infamous vixen should have been high on his list of fantasies, but this entire situation was nowhere near as sexy as he had envisioned. “How much are they offering for my capture? One million?”

“Two point five.”

He glanced back at her a couple times as they walked, somewhat enamored with the way the moon cast its white light across her bronzed skin. When her gaze caught his, it was always ridden with a hidden challenge.

“Huh.” He couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Tassiter squirming in his office, upping the reward for the capture of dear old _Jack_ , as an act of desperation to get back what he _thought_ was his. Stealing from Hyperion -- Tassiter specifically -- had never felt so satisfying. “You know, you help me out, I can make you a whole lotta money. A _lot_ more than two point five.”

She gave a sharp laugh. “Says the dead guy with no money.”

“Y’know, I may not be rich as shit right now, but if things go my way I’ll be worth a hell of a lot more than two point five million.” She snorted and he tried not to lose it completely. “The things I have in store… This planet is gonna be kissing my feet when I’m through.”

“Well, you’re more confident than most guys I pick up,” she mused. “But they usually break by day two.”

\---

He made it his personal mission to win her over.

He’d made several attempts to convince her of his plans for the future, offering vague hope and a foolproof plan. But she was merciless. She didn’t care that he was wanted for stealing from Hyperion, she _really_ didn’t care that what he stole was worth billions. She made it clear she was only interested in turning him in for her own reward.

She forced him to walk over two miles in the darkness until she pointed him to a cave that had been set up previously. It was a miserable little campsite, but she finally relieved him of his handcuffs and let him take the discolored cott that was better than the cold, cave floor.

With the cold tightness gone from his wrists, he immediately went to rub the sore skin. But she grabbed his wrists and pulled them closer to the fire so she could examine his new markings. The handcuffs had left red indents on his wrists, and she ran her thumb along the marks with a strange fondness.

“They’ll heal fast,” she said as she pulled her hands away. “Till then, you’ll have a sexy little reminder of what it’s like to evade the law.”

He raised a brow at that. “Uh, speaking from experience there, Nisha?”

She sat by the fire, removing the cowboy hat from her head so that she could run her fingers through her hair. She didn’t respond, but he could see the smile on her face while she warmed herself by the fire. If anything, she had him extremely curious about a lot of things.

Of all the opportunists that could have caught him, it had to be the sexy gunslinger with a smart mouth.

He watched her with weariness before he laid down on the cot. He tried to close his eyes and attempt to sleep. Not genuinely though. He hoped that if he could feign sleep that she might let her guard down. If she managed to even doze off for five minutes, he could manage grabbing his usb drive that she’d shoved into her own pocket and make a run for it. It wasn’t a good plan at all, but it was all he had.

So he positioned himself away from her and tried to slow his breathing, focusing on the sounds of the crackling fire and her quiet movements.

He wasn’t known for his patience in any capacity. What felt like two hours shivering on an uncomfortable cot probably only amounted to half an hour, based on the simple fact that the fire was still burning lightly enough that he could still see the dancing shadows above his head. Against his better judgement, he turned himself to look at her and found that she was in an upright slumped position by the fire.

Her cowboy hat had been cast aside and with her knees pulled to her chest, she rested her head atop them. It was strange how innocuous she looked. He watched her cautiously; the gentle sway of her body as she breathed was enough to convince him she had fallen asleep.

He moved as quickly and silently as he could toward her. She never stirred as he got closer, and he tried not to stare at her too closely. He checked her things for his usb first, but it was clear she still had it stuffed deep in the pocket of her jeans. He chewed on his lower lip as he glanced at her back pockets. How the hell was he going to reach in there without copping a feel?

With her back inclined, he could see the exposed skin of her lower back. It was annoying how distracted he could get from just two inches of skin. As slowly as he could, his right hand slid down her left pocket— fighting the urge to palm her ass when he found nothing. When he moved to the other pocket, he found it empty too.

Where the hell could she have moved the thing?

He backed away from her and eyed her suspiciously. He moved around her till he was standing across from her. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“‘Kay you can stop pretending to sleep, pumpkin,” he snapped and as he suspected, she greeted him with a calculating smile.

“Looking for this?” She laughed as she held up that stupid little usb drive. She twirled it in her fingers above the dying fire. “Thought ya said this was just a piece of junk.”

“That piece of junk is worth more than you’ll ever see in a lifetime,” he quipped, wanting to rip it from her clumsy hands.

“Bet Hyperion will pay extra if I return you both.”

“More likely,” he replied flatly, “is that when you give them what they want, they’ll arrest you _or_ kill you. But hey, if you wanna trust the power-hungry liars instead of the trustworthy hero before you then whatever.”

She paused, looking closer at the small device in her hands. He was prepared to lunge across the fire just to prevent her from trying to destroy it.

“Consider this my one act of kindness.” She flipped the usb out of her hands and over the fire. He reached out to catch it, dumbfounded that she had given it to him so easily. “Don’t count on another.”

“Now see here — _this_ is how it should be. You trusting me, me working with you. We could make each other rich, Nisha.”

She stretched her arms above her head and then rolled her shoulders, giving him a tired look. She always looked at him like she didn’t trust a word out of his mouth. She was right not to, but it’s not like he _wanted_ her to know that.

“This isn’t about trust,” she said as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “This is about you tryin’ to get me a better deal. Now go back to sleep because we gotta move in two hours.”

It looked like his time spent prattling on about his great plans and endless riches had really sunk in after all.

She pointed at the pitiful bed and he sighed, clutching the stolen data tightly in his hands. This bandit was too clever for her own good. She was going to force him to work with her, which was against every plan he had set. It had taken a lot of careful planning, years of backstabbing, and faked relationships to even get him this far. She could screw up everything he had going for him.

But she was leaving him with no options. He supposed he could drag her along temporarily, just to get what he could out of her. If money was her motivator, he could offer her enough to keep her compliant down the road.

\---

A week later she’d dragged him through the worst parts of the badlands, both worse for wear with sand having turned into a second layer of skin. He’d convinced her to take him to an abandoned facility that had enough power for him to work his magic. She’d rolled her eyes at his confidence but she never openly questioned it. And now they stood outside an abandoned bandit camp with a chain link fence that stood at least ten feet tall.

“So how exactly are we g—”

He thought she had been examining the fence, looking for a weak spot to break open. But now he saw her climbing until she reached the steel bar at the top, straddling it and giving him a thumbs up.

“What the hell, Nisha!”

He watched her clutch the top of her hat as she jumped down. She landed with a grunt and spun around to curl her fingers through the fence. She leaned forward with a smirk.

“Whatchya doin’ on that side, Jack?”

“Very funny. I’m not climbing the fence.”

“I’ll catch you,” she promised.

“Yeah” —he laughed— “it’s uh, not happening.”

He had already walked for what felt like a lifetime. Why would he want to exert even more energy just to climb a fence?

She looked at him, and then towards the sun that was quickly lowering in the sky. She tried to draw his attention with her index finger.

“Planning to sleep with the drifters tonight?”

Just the mentioning of the drifters had his skin crawling. Creatures of that size shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Pandora just loved to house the most disgusting, ugliest creatures. It was pure luck that he and Nisha had managed to sneak past a dozen without drawing any attention at all.

“God dammit,” he muttered, digging his fingers into the chains and forcing himself to climb. “You’re such a bitch,” he added as he rounded the top, glancing down at her amused figure.

“Don’t be a pissbaby.”

He jumped down with a stumble and her arms were quick to steady to him. Her arm slipped around his waist, resting gently on his back until she was sure he had his footing. It had only been a week, and yet both of them had lost all sense of personal space for each other. He didn’t even know when it had began, but both of them had gotten inappropriately comfortable with the touch of the other.

While he glared at her, she brushed away dirt from his cheeks. He was one hundred percent certain that she did innocent things like this just to toy with him. When she finally pulled her hand away, he tried to turn from her with an unbothered expression.

“Anyways, where the hell is the actual entrance?”

“Far side of the facility,” she pointed to their left where a row of Dahl trash bins had been grouped together. “Expect trouble.”

“Uh, you told me this place was abandoned.”

“It is. Mostly.”

He let out a haughty laugh, “I am not going into a ‘mostly’ abandoned building to get shot at by a bunch of half-witted jerkasses.”

She rolled her eyes at him again, reaching for her silver painted revolver. She flipped it in her hands and held it out to him.

“Take it then, dumbass.”

“I’m not going in there,” he repeated with emphasis, crossing his arms. He could see her patience wearing thin.

“I heard you the first time,” she grabbed for his hands, forcing his fisted right hand open and shoving the weapon into his hand. She closed his fingers around the grip. “If you want to stand out here looking like an asshole, then you might as well have a gun.”

He raised a brow, “You trust me with this thing?”

“I don’t trust you with anything. But since you don’t want to watch my back, you should at least be armed just in case.”

“I _always_ watch your back,” he said with a smirk.

“Don’t be cute,” she flicked a stray piece of lint from his shirt. “Try not to shoot yourself in the foot while I’m gone.”

“Concerned for my well-being?” He laughed derisively as she turned to walk off towards the facility. She flipped him off as she made her way to the bins of trash. He may have been completely distracted in the sway of her hips that he even forgot he was holding a gun at all.

When she finally disappeared, he sighed and looked down at her signature revolver. She claimed to have given it to him as a precaution but he suspected that it was more likely a show of trust. She hadn’t glanced back at him once as she walked away and he could have shot her in the back easily. Unless she knew that he wouldn’t shoot her or she thought he didn’t know how to shoot a gun or… maybe it wasn’t even loaded.

This was the first time since she had captured him that they were even spending a moment apart. If there was any opportunity to escape, it would be now. He took a few steps from the fence, checking his surroundings.

Everything around him was either dirt, concrete, or sand. He had chosen this area based on the seclusion. There was no real civilization for miles with abandoned camps, hidden sinkholes, destroyed old highways, and the occasional drifter littering the surroundings. It was just as dangerous as every other inch of Pandora. But here the suffocating sands felt inescapable and that made it the perfect place to start unleashing his plans. Mr.Tassiter wouldn’t have the balls to look for him here.

He decided to walk along the fence, keeping his grip tight on Nisha’s gun. Any parts of it that had been torn down by either time or an idiotic bandit with a vehicle had been repaired with sheets of dry wood. Whoever had been living here last had clearly meant to keep it.

He looked back at the building with newfound suspicion. He hadn’t heard one gun-shot or the inaudible cries of any psychos. It occurred to him that Nisha could have been ambushed when she entered or even _dead_. He could be standing outside until the heat sunk deep into the ground and left him with an uncomfortable chill. He didn’t like the sound of that.

So he began a slow gait towards the dilapidated building, trying to follow Nisha’s path. She’d left clear footprints in the sand and he rounded the corner of the building, past the trash bins, to find an open steel door.

He peaked his head in, relieved that it was well lit. There were rows of opened lockers, some completely knocked over. He took a tentative step in— his shoes scuffling across the steel-plated floors, dragging in sand.

The first room opened up into two separate hallways and he stood between them with a growing impatience. Nisha wasn’t supposed to scour every inch of the facility until they were completely certain it held no living souls. That would have taken too long.

He missed his access to technology. If he was still connected to the ECHOnet in any capacity, he’d have been able to map the facility in a minute tops. Now he felt foolish just deciding which hallway to take.

He decided to go right, watching for any odd sounds or misplaced wiring. All he had to do was find a room with a working monitor and an operating system that wasn’t completely out of date.

He walked until he found a stairwell that led down. He followed it until it opened up into an area with boxes and boxes of discolored questionable items. He knocked away any that blocked door openings until he found what he was looking for.

He found an idle monitor with a set-up that hadn’t been touched in at least a year. He blew at the growth of dust and bent down to startup the system. He looked for a port so his hidden cache of data could finally be of some use. All he really needed was to finally be connected with the ECHOnet again.

He got so caught up in transferring the data from the drive onto the facility’s console that he never heard her approach.

“Well,” she leaned into his back, causing him to stiffen, “howdy partner.” He hadn’t even noticed she’d disarmed him, her revolver back in her own hand, the barrel once again pressing into his back.

“How the hell do you always manage to sneak up on me?” He pulled from her to twist around and watch her stifle a laugh. She had a new cut across her cheek below her left eye, a line of red that immediately drew his attention.

“You make it too easy. Whatchya doin’?” She nodded towards the flashing text on the monitor.

“Oh, just uploading the stolen data to a much safer, hidden source—”

“Uh-huh…”

“—so that I can finally overthrow that friggen’ snake Mr. Tassiter and claim my place as rightful CEO of Hyperion.”

She nodded slowly with pursed lips. “Big dreams. Still don’t understand how a bunch of data is gonna change anything.”

“I told you, I stole all their security protocols, passwords, encryptions, along with a year’s work of hidden projects. Been working the whole frame-job-angle from the beginning. It’s all pretty simple: I frame my boss who I claim is framing me, I steal a bunch of high-level data, then I make it look like Mr. Tassiter took it for himself to start a new company. Mr. Tassiter gets caught with his dick in his hands. I come out looking like a hero when I return the stolen data, and Mr. Tassiter is out of a job.”

“Ugh. That sounds too complicated. Why not just kill the guy?”

She had a point there. He’d loved to stick a bullet in the old man’s brain, but murders always lead to investigations. By sticking to his field of knowledge, he’d usurp his old boss with ease and misdirected suspicion. Hyperion would have no choice but to crown him king for all his heroic work.

“Murder is not always the answer.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

“Ehh, we’ll agree to disagree,” he smiled, pleased that he had made it this far with few incidents and even fewer injuries. “Just leave the planning to me, cupcake. I got this in the bag.”

She watched him work in silence, fiddling with her hair and then spinning the cylinder of her gun. He could see the boredom evidenced in her slumped shoulders and inability to stay still. Knowing that the data transfer could take awhile, he decided to give her his undivided attention.

“When did you get that?” He reached for her new scratch and she pulled her face out of reach.

“Skags were making a home here. One got too close,” she said, averting her eyes to the ground. She reached up and hesitantly touched the mark on her face. He noticed a couple more across her arm as she raised it, even one ripping right through her black gloved hand.

He felt uncomfortable and unsure of what to say to that. He could never go wrong with flirting though.

“Looks sexy. Gives you that whole ‘don’t fuck with me’ look. Fitting, really.”

She snorted, finally turning her golden eyes back to him. “What happens when this is over?”

“I already expl—”

“No,” she said firmly. “When you have your new _empire_. When you overthrow that asshole who’s in charge. What happens after?”

He caught her meaning and he really didn’t want to have this conversation yet. He would either be too honest and give her enough reason to shoot him now or his evasive lies would make her suspicious enough to shoot him anyway. There was no winning here.

“That’s up to you,” he tried, rubbing his jawline nervously. “You can get anything you want, naturally.” _Within reason_ , he thought to himself.

“Anything I want, huh?”

She grabbed his chin and dragged his face to her level, her lips dangerously close to his. Her lips curled upwards as she deliberately let her eyes linger on his lips before looking into his eyes. She leaned in closer and he thought for certain there’d be no distance left between them, but she pulled away with a grin.

“Expect I’ll be cashing in by the end of all this.” She had an effortless way of swaying him with a few looks and a sultry voice that halted all rationality. He didn’t drag his eyes from her until she pointed back at the monitor. “Looks like it’s done.”

There was a level of satisfaction in knowing that he was going to accomplish something he’d set out to do ever since he joined the company years ago. But now there seemed to be a different kind of reward waiting for him at the end of the line.

The mysterious devil woman of the badlands was leading him to the promised land. She could have easily been a stepping stone— another body discarded in his rise to the top. But he had an overwhelming feeling that she wouldn’t be leaving his side any time soon.

Maybe for the first time ever, he was going to have his partner in crime.


	2. Indestructible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack falls in love with a girl shrouded in mystery, but her past seems to be more dangerous than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire one-shot is inspired by [THIS](http://68.media.tumblr.com/cf3999c8207d5d8b898710cb80953b50/tumblr_on2rh6jEVt1qjbfofo1_500.jpg) little thing I came across last month. It turned this one-shot into a modern au, which was certainly not easy to create. Jack and Nisha are in their early twenties and somewhat domestic?? I really tried to play around with Jack's perception of Nisha.
> 
> Warnings for: sexual content, lots of swearing, mentions of violence/abuse.

 

The first time he ever ran into her, March had gotten its clutches in the frigid air and dampened it with early spring rains.

He’d still been in a daze from a two-hour long lecture. Majoring in computer programming had been the single most annoying thing that had been plaguing him for two years. He hardly needed classes to teach him a single thing about “common performance errors with out-of-order processors”, when he’d been navigating the world of technology since he was a child. He shouldn’t have had to go to school for this shit at all. By the end of each lecture, he could never tell if he wanted to strangle his professors or himself for choosing to get an education.

He was walking back to his apartment with a stack of notes for upcoming papers and the largest coffee he could afford to keep himself somewhat level-headed. This time of day was ideal for him to stroll home at his own pace. He’d cut across alleyways and make his way through the derelict parts of town—just far enough from city goers to hear the distant hum of vehicles and the wind carry voices just a block away.

He had only looked down for a second in an attempt to readjust his hold on his papers. When he looked up, she was suddenly there like a bolt of lightning, striking into him and knocking away everything he had. She’d been running fast enough that she took them both out in one hit. They both tumbled to the concrete and he groaned as his head snapped backwards, bouncing hard against the pavement and causing his vision to blacken at the edges.

“Fuck,” he heard a voice beside him inhale sharply. He held his head as he sat up, rubbing the spot that had smashed against the sidewalk.

Some girl with a mess of wild black hair was staring down at her now stained white crop top. Outside of her new coffee stain, she seemed mostly uninjured except for old bruises that seemed to color her bare legs. Her head snapped up to look at him with an expression of pure agitation.

“Jeez, you hit like a psycho on LSD,” he complained. She didn’t seem amused at all, pulling at the wet fabric on her abdomen with a look of disgust.

“You ruined my shirt,” she said flatly, finally pulling her tangle of brown limbs off the ground. He was surprised when she offered him her hand and she yanked him up with unexpected strength.

She glanced back at the direction she’d come, chewing on her lower lip. He followed her line of sight, but the street was empty—save for them and cars that zoomed by in the distance.

Of all the possible strangers he could run into on an abandoned street with vacant buildings and an uneven pavement, it had to be her; a pretty girl around his age who was _completely_ out of his league.

“Technically,” he gave a short laugh, “you ruined your own shirt, cupcake. _You’re_ the one who ran into me. You probably gave me a concussion too.”

“ _I_ gave you a concussion?” _Damn, if looks could kill_ , he thought to himself. “Maybe your brain was already damaged before I came along, guy.”

“Yeah—no.” He watched her eyes dart from him, to her shirt, back towards the end of the street. “All you, lady.”

“Whatevs, I don’t have time for this shit. Just… I need your shirt.” There was an edge of urgency in her voice and desperation in her eyes. It sounded more like an order than a question, and though he’d never pass up a chance to get undressed with an attractive stranger, he felt no sense of comfort in listening to the whims of some random girl.

“A-Are you robbing me?” He asked, taking a step away from her.

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I’m robbing you. Give me your damn shirt.”

“Look, I’m sorry about your shirt—honest—but you’re not taking mine.”

“Ugh, you’re a pain in the ass. What’ll it take?” She snapped, her fists tightening at the ends of her shirt. She held it as far from her body as she could, inviting more attention to her bare skin. Clearly he’d been staring a little too long because she had a look on her face as if she’d figured him out completely. “A handjob? A quick fuck? Just make up your damn mind.”

He stared at her in shock. The idea of being propositioned on a street four blocks from his home by a daunting freight-train of a woman was not something he ever saw happening to him. Ever.

“Wait, wait, wait. Is this, uh, actually happening right now? I mean, alright, sure. If you’re offering then—”

“Jeez, you’re slow.” She began to pull her white top over her head, revealing a black bra and an assortment of bruises along her ribcage. Logic was surely slipping out the window when faced with a half-naked girl.

It was a split second decision that he decided to help her. He pulled his own yellow long-sleeved shirt over his head, leaving him with only his white undershirt. He handed it over to her like it was his most prized possession, watching her finally smile when she pulled it on.

“Huh, actually looks good on you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I look good in anything.”

“Uh, pretty sure that’s my line.”

“Thanks,” was all he got from her before she dropped her old shirt on the ground and bolted. He stood there for at least two minutes questioning what had really just happened. He reached for his discarded papers that had been scattered along the street. When he was finally done he realized with irritation that he never got her name.

\---

The second time he ran into her it was just as literal, if not more.

It’d been three months since their last encounter. He’d been driving in circles for ten minutes trying to find this hidden restaurant his newest girlfriend had begged him to try. She’d nagged him for a week straight just to take her there. She’d given him vague directions to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, annoying him further by letting him know it wouldn’t show up on any map.

The rain had soured his mood, making it easier to get lost when you could hardly see five feet out your window. He’d been fiddling with the car radio, trying to find a station that wasn’t blasting the news 24/7, eager for some music that would knock the tension from his shoulders. He took his eyes off the road for a second tops, glancing out his windshield a second too late. He tried to slam on his brakes when he saw the figure scrambling across the street.

Her body slammed into the hood of the car and catapulted backwards, disappearing into the sheet of rain. When his car finally came to a stop, he pulled on the parking brake and jumped out. He rushed to the front of his car and found her standing upright, wet black hair clinging to her face. She’d reached down for the cowboy hat that had gone flying off her head.

His headlights lit her up, making her look like some tortured goddess of the underworld, outlining the dark circles beneath her eyes and a busted lip. She arched a brow at the sight of him, clearly in disbelief that their paths would ever cross again. With a chuckle, she fixed her hair before putting her hat back on.

“We really should stop meeting like this.”

“How the hell are you still standing?” His eyes scanning the rest of her for visible injuries. She’d traded her old worn-down clothes for sleek jeans and a leather jacket, taking the sexy cowgirl look to another level. “I was going 25!”

“I’m immortal,” she crooned, a wide grin warming her face. “It’ll take more than a speeding piece of metal to take me down.”

He could see the intoxication in the way she stumbled, leaning forward to blow a breath full of whiskey in his direction. No amount of rain could wash away that smell. He had to wonder what could cause her to drink so heavily in the middle of the day.

“What are you, freakin’ indestructible?” He asked suspiciously, unable to comprehend how someone her size could have bones made of pure iron. To be uninjured was one thing, but to land on her feet seemed implausible.

She winked at him before walking over to the hood of his car, examining the small dent with the press of her slender fingers.

“Guess you’re gonna add this to my tab?”

He hadn’t been planning to bring up the first time they met, still looking back at the memory as if it had happened in a dream. The entire event had always felt unbelieveable. She’d shortchanged him with little effort on her part. He still thought about that shirt and the girl who’d run off with it.

“You never did return my shirt.”

“I still have it,” she smiled when she walked back over to him. She idly touched at the cut at the edge of her mouth, her lip trembling slightly with each touch.

“Is that my fault?” He pointed at the injury and her smile disappeared in an instant.

“Nah,” she said slowly, licking the tender spot. “Got this one from a creep in a bar. Claimed I’d robbed him.”

“Did you?”

She smiled deviously and he had half a mind to ask her how she was always getting injured. But even at first glance, he could tell she was the kind of girl that invited trouble.

“Well, I hope he looks worse.”

“Oh,” she leaned forward, her enigmatic eyes resplendent in the light. “He does.”

Under the rancorous warm rain, it felt like they were standing at the edge of a precipice into another plane of existence. If he’d been living in a safeguarded, colorless world than looking at her was like recognizing color for the first time. It was tempting to offer himself up to her—do whatever he could to ease her burdens. Every sideways glance, light-headed smile, and throwaway words made him want to unspool the threads that held her together.

He’d been leaning forward, as if he needed a closer look at her lips. He half expected her to shove him away when he was mere inches from her face. He carefully reached out to her, tentative as he touched the edge of her lips. She flinched at his touch but she never pulled away.

He could have kissed her right then, just to break the silence. Looking at her too long against the low beams of his car made her seem split into two; an esoteric steel-toed girl who walked a fine line between life and death, and the shadowed horrors behind each bruising flaw that belonged to her alone. Even if he wanted to make sense of her, he knew she’d likely never give him a chance.

His ringtone interrupted anything that could have transpired. He cursed under his breath as he fished the damned thing out of his jean pocket. His girlfriend’s name flashed across the screen. He’d forgotten why he’d been driving down this road—forgot he was supposed to be meeting her. Nothing seemed nearly as important as the girl in front of him.

“Girlfriend?” Her glowing silhouette seeming to shift into a forlorn shadow.

“Yeah,” he swallows, letting his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend catch his voicemail.

“Shoulda answered.”

She reached up and pressed a hand to his chest, just above his heart, and gave a weary smile. She pushed against him gently before taking a few steps back and everything they had building in the moment dispersed in the spring air. He had hardly noticed the rain had lightened to a drizzle.

“Maybe next time I’ll return your shirt,” she said as she continued backing away, her boots shuffling gravel in his direction.

“Maybe next time I’ll be single.”

“Here’s to hoping,” she let out a distant giggle before she was gone altogether.

It still felt like he was dreaming and god dammit did he wish that he’d never wake up.

\---

The third time he ran into her felt like divine intervention.

He didn’t believe in gods at all. He’d rather put all his faith in himself. But there were certain things that even he couldn’t explain. Maybe he didn’t believe in gods, but he believed in fate. And damn if it didn’t feel like each time he saw her that fate had bound them together by an invisible, unbreakable thread.

It’d been almost three months since he saw that familiar cowboy hat. The summer air had begun dwindling into tepid temperatures that still made him yearn for the beach. The passing of summer was just a reminder that his final year of the hell that was college was racing into his purview.

He’d stopped by the liquor store on his way back into town. He knew his fridge had been emptied out of all his favorite beers and there was no better way to end his days of freedom than to be completely wasted.

The sun was bleeding orange into the horizon, dipping low and bringing a quiet wind along with it. He was clutching his case of beer in one hand and twirling his car keys in the other. He never expected to see her bent down at the hood of his car in a black tank top and ripped, denim shorts.

“Son of a taint…”

She seemed to perk up at the sound of his voice. When she turned to look at him, there was a smugness that pulled at her eyes. He couldn’t believe that he had found her again and that she’d transformed from a battered transient into a summer-fresh average girl. Except that there was nothing average about her.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” she teased, seating herself on the hood of his car. She pointed to the dent beside her. “Never got this fixed, huh?”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t leave a calling card. I needed _something_ to remember you by.”

She crossed her legs as he made it to his car, resting the beer beside her. He couldn’t understand how she managed to look even better than before with her faded scars and her old cowboy boots. Meeting her all over again gave him the dizzying feeling of déjà vu.

“So, you’re not mad that I stole your shirt—”

“Bought a new one.”

“—and dented your car?”

“Ehh, it gave the car more personality.”

“Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

He gave her his infamous smile; all charm and swagger. Each time he’d found her he hadn’t been ready to rebuttal any of her advances. A small part of him didn’t understand why she even bothered to give him any attention at all.

“You look good,” he noted, impressed that she had no obvious injuries this time. She seemed to catch his meaning.

“Well, the week ain’t over,” she leaned back, her shirt riding up to reveal two inches of skin.

He wasn’t planning to proposition her out here, but the idea was tempting. He offered her his store-bought beer, glass in hand, and she seemed surprised. She took it without hesitation, her fingers lightly brushing against his as she took the bottle and uncapped it. She flipped the bottle cap onto the ground and nudged the box of beer towards him.

“I ain’t drinking alone, partner.”

She urged him to open one for himself and he was eager to comply. They clinked their bottles together before taking a swig. She held the bottle close to her chest afterwards—almost affectionately—like it was more than a bottle of cheap beer.

“So, are you finally going to give me your name or what?” He swirled the bottle in his hand, watching the liquid dance around before taking another long sip.

She absentmindedly ran a finger across her lower lip, her eyes unfocused as she replies slowly, “Nisha.” She seemed tense even as she said her own name, like she shouldn’t have said the word at all. He couldn’t understand how she managed to look poised and completely rigid all at once.

“Huh,” even the sound of her name felt familiar. “Nisha…” He hated that nagging feeling of something bouncing in the back of his mind out of reach that he just couldn’t recall. He tried not to linger on it. “I’m—”

“Jack. Yeah,” she smiled before taking a long sip of her beer. “I already know.”

“Uh, wait wait wait.” He rubbed at his temples, perplexed. “I definitely never introduced myself to you before, right? I mean, I would totally remember that. Mostly because I have an _amazing_ memory but, I mean…” _I wouldn’t ever forget meeting you._

She snorted, drawing his attention. “You wrote your name on the inside of your shirt.”

“Oh.”

He’d started the habit of writing his name on things when he was just a kid. It had always felt like a way to claim that he was the rightful owner. He even found himself doing it to things that weren’t his over the years. Maybe it’d been a tad pretentious to act as if all the things he accumulated were actually his, but in the long run, he wanted everything under the sun to belong to him anyway.

He watched Nisha finish her beer and slam the bottle to the ground, shards of the clear bottle scattered across the parking lot. She jumped from the car with a little hop, shuffling what remained of the bottle with her cowboy boots. She looked at him expectantly.

“Take me home?”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. He grabbed the beer and unlocked his car, watching her slide into the passenger seat before he made it to the driver’s side. He shoved the rest of the beer into the backseat and settled into the car. Nisha took his beer right out of his hands.

“Hey!”

“You’re drinking it too slow,” she smiles, pulling the beer to her lips. “Besides, you’re driving.”

“Yeesh, gonna start calling you ‘Nisha the thief’. First my shirt, now my beer. What’s next? My dignity?”

Suddenly her hand was on his chin, tilting his head towards her. Her lips found his with ease, pressing hard enough against his that he felt a full-body shiver turning him into weak-kneed fool. It felt like middle school all over again. She pulled away a second later, keeping her breathing even as she told him her intentions.

“When I’m through with you, there won’t be much left.”

He couldn’t gets the keys in the ignition fast enough. His fingers stumbled over the steering wheel and there was genuine desperation pulsing through his veins. He’d drive off a fucking bridge if she asked him.

He edged out of the parking lot, trying to mask how easily flustered she made him. He’d worked fucking hard on his persona of seamless charm and unfailing wit. It was so much easier to keep it together when he was surrounded by idiots that were so far beneath him. It was now increasingly difficult to keep it together when some cowgirl from hell sat beside him giving him the kinds of looks that should have been illegal.

“So, where am I going? Where do you live?” He looked back and forth across the empty street. He was just waiting on her.

“Just take me to your place.”

“Works for me.”

He couldn’t get back fast enough. He definitely went over the speed limit without a care in the world, and Nisha kicked back and laughed as she watched the speedometer. There was only one thing on his mind, and it was enough to get him back to his apartment in a little under ten minutes.

She’d let him take her by the hand, climbing the two flights of stairs faster than he ever had. But she made a show of taking her sweet time, pushing his buttons with every second longer they stood outside of his home.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” she noted as he flipped through his keys, his fingers failing him as he pressed them into the lock. It was hard to function at a hundred percent when she was leaned in so close, leaving only enough room for his senses to be overwhelmed by her and her only.

“Not nervous,” he said, finally getting the door open. “Just got other things on my mind.”

“Care to share?”

“Nah. I’d rather show you.”

He flipped on the lights, set the beer on the kitchen counter, and pulled her into his arms. In his effort to slide his arms around her, he knocked her hat away and she let out giggle that made his body temperature spike. He pressed her back into the door, unconcerned with anything but the amount of clothes between them.

“What’s the ru—”

His lips silenced hers. He had waited long enough for this moment. He’d imagined it enough times in his head over the past several months. Some days all he could think about was the day she first crashed into him and had made his head spin for weeks after. But no amount of daydreaming could ever account for her warm hands pushing beneath his shirt, nor the little noises that escaped her lips every time he pressed harder into her.

He heard a click behind her and pulled away for a second, “What are you doing?”

“Locking the door,” she said, her hand fisting into his hair, pulling him back into her.

“Scared someone’s gonna walk in on us?” He barely managed to say when one of her hands made an effort to push his waist into hers, a raspy gasp escaping her lips.

“Maybe.”

He learned quickly that Nisha was undeniably cruel. Even when she’d managed to pull him out of his own shirt, she’d taken the opening when their lips had parted temporarily to slip away from the door and out of his grasp.

She scanned the living quarters with confusion, running her spindly fingers through her black, messy hair. He dragged himself slowly towards her, trying with great strain to keep his hands at his sides. She tilted her head as if she was trying to make sense of where she was.

“How the hell are you affording all this?” She walked towards his flat screen tv, running her fingers along the edges as if that would compel her to understand. It was hard to hear her when all he was noticing was her loosened shorts slipping down her hips, exposing her black underwear. “You’re a college student, right?”

He really didn’t think she’d notice his decked out apartment.

She continued moving towards the windows, glancing out before drawing the curtains. “You drive a Corolla that’s gotta be ten years old. This place looks ridiculously expensive. What’s your secret?”

“Fraud,” he deadpanned.

She snickered, finally making her way back to him in the center of the room. He half-expected her to veer away from him again. She was making it inherently clear that she enjoyed teasing him. But she hooked her fingers in the loopholes of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“A handsome criminal, huh?” She pressed her lips against his jawline before dragging her teeth down his neck. He shivered, his own hands reaching for her waist again.

“Who says I’m a criminal?”

His own impatience won in the end. He was slipping his hands beneath the waistband of her shorts, forcing them down her legs. When he finally kissed her again, he couldn’t think of anything else but touching every inch of her. He pulled her along as he stumbled backwards toward his bedroom door.

He would tether himself to her this time so she wouldn’t slip away. He kissed her until there was a tightness in his chest, pulling away only momentarily to plant an array of kisses along her neckline, down to her collarbones.

“Jack,” her voice hitched when they stumbled into the room, slants of light filtering through the curtains. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.” His mind was a buzz with her—all of her, every burning touch.

“Don’t look for me.”

Her voice was oddly serious and he pulled back in confusion.

“What ar—”

She didn’t let him finish, silencing him with her mouth, her tongue, and the way her palm slid down his stomach to the waistband of his boxers. She effectively disarmed him of any power at all. And with every touch, it felt like she was dragging him to the gates of hell.

\---

She had least been decent enough to leave a note when he awoke the next morning. He’d slept in too long, forgetting to even set his alarm. He hadn’t been able to tear away from her the entire night and afterwards he had passed out from sheer exhaustion.

His bed had been empty and he scoured his apartment for any hints of her at all. She’d been like a ghost; not a trace of her remained except the messy written note on the kitchen counter. He reread it twice before tossing it back onto the table.

Never had he met a woman as confusing as her. She’d only written three words and she even underlined them for good measure—“ _keep your promise_ ”. How the hell could she expect him to keep an asinine promise made when her hands had been down his pants?

He tried in vain to keep his annoyance to a minimum. He always seemed to find her again in the end or maybe she always found him. But after the night he had, it was going to be more than difficult to keep going without her.

So he gave her time to reappear. When school started again, he had enough of a distraction that he wasn’t constantly wondering what she was doing, where she was sleeping, or where the hell she was hiding. He’d even gone so far as to search the depths of the ECHOnet for anything he could find on his mystery one night stand, but with so little information, he came away with nothing.

All he could do was wait for the inevitable.

\---

The fourth time he ran into her she had a nasty black eye and two cracked ribs.

She’d called him from a payphone only a block from his apartment. He’d been walking home with a bag of groceries when his phone had buzzed violently in his pocket. She had been the last call he ever expected.

“If this is another fuckin’ call about my auto rates, I’ll track _you_ down and set you on fire. And then I’ll take a bunch of pictures and send it to all your other stupid friends, dickbag!”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” her voice cracked through the static and he nearly dropped everything in his hands.

“Well, if it isn’t the devil herself.”

“So you _do_ remember me.”

“Ehh, kinda? Are you the girl that stole my shirt or the one who dented my car? Or maybe you’re the girl who—oh, I dunno— dropped off the face of the fucking planet after brandishing me with a dozen hickeys? You broke my headboard, you know.”

“Fuck,” she wheezed. “Don’t make me laugh, asshole.”

“Where are you?”

“Close enough.”

“Just droppin’ by for a quickie then?” He desperately wanted to see her face again.

“Keep on dreamin’, cowboy.” The line went dead and he stared at his phone in disbelief. If she had called just to dick him around for an entire minute, his annoyance and frustration might have sent him directly into another galaxy.

How could he want someone so unbearable all the time?

He tried to make peace with the fact that he probably wouldn’t hear from her again for another two months. It seemed that they’d forever be doomed to constant reappearances and disappearances. He did wonder if all their run-ins were intentional and he was just a fucking mouse trapped in an endless maze searching for her at the center of it all.

He made his way up to his apartment, groaning when he dropped the groceries to the floor. It was going to be another long night of homework, alcohol, and porn. Probably not in that order.

He began shoving things into cabinets when he heard the knock on his door. It was tempting to ignore the incessant pounding of a fist because he was certainly in no mood to deal with another tenant.

He swung the door open, preparing to slam the door in the asshole’s face but it was her. It always managed to be her.

“Heya stranger,” she winked. “Mind lettin’ me in?”

He moved aside for her, appalled all over again that she was here and that she in fact did exist. But this version of her was a shadow of the last time he’d seen her. It was hard to notice anything else but her swelling, purple eye.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

She held up her fists as a response, the scrapes on her knuckles crusted over with dried blood. “Shit happens?”

“Are you a part of some kind of fight club? Every time I see you you’re wearing injuries like they’re friggen’ golden badges.”

“Sure, handsome. Whatever works.”

“You’re _way_ ”—he dragged out the word for emphasis—“too calm for someone who looks like they lost a fight.”

“I didn’t,” she snapped.

“Jeez, fine. The other guy probably looks worse.”

“Other guy’s dead.”

He could feel her uneasiness; it settled around them like a blanket of ice. He wanted to prod her for more—find another one of her hidden puzzle pieces. Mystery could be sexy but this was bringing a level of danger that could ruin everything he’d worked for.

With a sigh, he turned to his ice dispenser. He had too many questions and she made it clear that being vague was her safety-net. She didn’t want to let him in—fine, whatever. He could fucking deal with the emotional distance, but her leaving again was something he refused to let happen again. He didn’t give a shit if she was some renowned criminal or if she was just running from the law. He would help her in any capacity, but she’d have to learn to sit still.

Without warning, he pressed the ice to her eye and she pulled away with a hiss.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of black eyes, babe. The ice makes it easier.”

She glanced at him cautiously before taking the ice from him, rubbing it against the edges of her swollen eye. If he had to gauge a timeline of her injuries, he’d have guessed that she’d been in some brawl a day earlier. Her knuckles from a quick glance had only just begun to scab over and her left eye looked more swollen than inflamed. He’d had too many eye injuries over the years—something he’d attributed to his heterochromia. He couldn’t even recount the amount of times his stupid fucking grandmother talked about him having the eyes of a fucking demon. The stupid bitch certainly went to great lengths to find ways to prove it.

“‘Bout before…” She began, moving out of the kitchen and towards the couch in the corner. “I want you to understand that leaving isn’t easy.” She kept her back to him. “But staying is always worse.”

“Well,” he turned back towards the groceries that he hadn’t unpacked, “that’s fucking vague.”

She finally seated herself, the ice mostly melted now. He watched her wince and knew that there were many more injuries along her torso that he just couldn’t see.

“But you kept your promise.”

_Not intentionally._

“You’re the first guy to do even that much.”

Whether he could recognize it or not, she was adding another piece to the jigsaw puzzle of a body that she inhabited. She was amorphous by nature in a way that was hard to fathom. He thought that even if she revealed all her cards to him now, he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend even a fraction of the revelation.

“What can I say? I’m Mr. Reliable.”

She relaxed into the couch best as she could, kicking off her boots and resting her feet against the coffee table. She tossed her hat on the spot beside her and pressed her eyes shut.

He wanted to ask her then who she really was. But he watched her breath begin to slow and her hand fall away from her face. She had pushed her body through hell, and she’d returned damaged but standing. All the tension in her body had dissipated, and it was the first time he felt like he could see behind the bloodied curtain.

\---

She stayed.

He waited for the next shoe to drop.

Nisha would always tend to her injuries with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, taking one too many sips when she’d look herself over in the mirror. There were many times when he’d catch her flipping through a dusty, old backpack of hers, humming as she pulled out stacks of cash just to count it. He’d tried to ask her about it once, joking that she’d robbed a bank. She had simply winked at him before drawing his attention to something else entirely, and he never saw the backpack again.

She’d taken to watching over him when he was sitting at his desk, hunched over and typing away at another paper. She liked to rest her chin on his shoulder, keeping her voice soft against his ear just to tease him. Worse was when she pressed her lips to his ears, whispering explicit things that shifted his brain away from schoolwork altogether.

Her injuries made everything hard on the physical front. He’d been torn between his impatience and an unwillingness to injure her further. She’d given him reassurances that she had a high pain tolerance and that she wasn’t going to let a few cracked ribs stop her from getting off. She always won in the end, scolding him when he made attempts to be gentle. He found that afterwards, he’d press kisses to her neck like she was an infallible goddess and he was barely her equal. When they were nothing more than two bodies melded together, he’d come to whisper a hymn against her skin— _“You’re indestructable.”_

With time came more fractures across her hardened edges, breaking away the hidden parts of her, and allowing him in. She’d dance around topics strategically, but words that had once meant to confound him now gave him profound clarity. The simplest of interactions turned into finding a hidden pathway through the labyrinth of her mind.

During movies she’d groan at overt displays of affections, chide him on his terrible tastes, and fall asleep with her head against his shoulder. When he dragged her from the apartment to meaningless places like the train station or the corner mart, she’d slide her hand into his back pocket, pinpointing each passing stranger’s fatal flaw. He had pulled her into his world of normalcy, and she had proved she could survive.

But she still had strange habits that left him wondering about her past. She couldn’t sleep at night unless the doors were locked, she spent her questionably obtained money on booze and pocket knives, and made a point of sticking to crowded streets when they were in public. It happened enough that he’d tried to ask her about it but she always gave him a flippant response, joking that there were monsters in the dark looking to settle an age old score.

There were still days when she disappeared for hours, but she always returned whether it was 11 p.m. or 3:30 a.m. The decorative bruises faded and never returned. Whatever dark world she’d stumbled out of; she seemed to be trying to leave it behind. Some nights after being gone she’d climb into bed with him smelling of burnt cinnamon and alcohol, but it made no difference. It only mattered that she always came back.

When November got its foothold in the dying autumn air, he’d begun to buy her things. She’d practically taken residence in every corner of his home and her clothes decorated his bedroom floor. It had started with a key to the apartment, then a cheesy coffee mug—until eventually everything that was his had also become hers.

It was halfway through the month when Nisha invited him on a mini roadtrip. The only information she had been willing to share was that it was a two-hour road trip to an undisclosed location. She barely had to give him any reason at all to take a break from the growing ache in his head from work and school.

“You ever think the bad shit we do will ever catch up to us?” She’d finally turned down the radio, leaving only the sound of her voice and the working heater.

“Huh? You mean karma?”

She stared off into the vibrant horizon, her golden eyes reflecting the sun’s light. He had only just noticed that her hair was longer now, curling below her shoulders.

“I’m talking about justice, Jack.”

“Don’t get where you’re goin’ with this, babe.”

Her fists tightened against the steering wheel before she continued, “Justice? Revenge? Doesn’t matter.” She was shifting all her tension into the gas. “I think we always get what we deserve in the end.”

“That sounds fucking ominous, Nisha. ‘ _We get what we deserve_ ’? You’re gonna turn that into a self-fulling prophecy.”  He reached across the gear shift and squeezed her thigh. “You need to relax.”

“Who says I’m not relaxed?”

“You look like you’re gonna snap the steering wheel in half,” he pointed out. “Maybe I should drive.”

“No.” She presses harder on the gas for effect, his shitty little Corolla lurching forward.

“Stop driving like a maniac!”

“Pfft, I’m barely speeding.”

“Nish, you may be immortal, but I’m sure as hell not. So slow down, ‘cause this piece of shit car can’t handle anything over 70.”

She lightened her foot on the gas with a sigh, “You’re still going on about that?”

“Hey, if the friggen’ shoe fits.”

“I’m not immortal, Jack.”

She finally pulled off the highway, veering onto some unnamed road. He cupped his hand over his eyes and squinted, trying to make out the buildings in the distance. She’d taken him to no man’s land; colored by dour abandoned homes and greying trees.

“The shit you’ve been through…” He shook his head just remembering all the versions of her that existed in his head. “You should be dead.”

“Maybe I’m just lucky.”

“Nah, babe, luck runs out.”

She made another turn onto a gravel road; the vibrations stirring him in his seat. She only drove half-a-mile before shifting the stick into park and turning off the ignition. She turned, studying him with furrowed brows.

“Maybe mine’s about to.” The sunset cast spiral-shaped shadows through the trees that ringed around her. It burned right through his chest to look at her like this; jagged hues of oranges and pinks left him feeling as if he’d stumbled across heaven itself.

“We gotta walk the rest of the way.”

He slipped his hand into hers when they walked, needing that physicality to know she wasn’t some strained vision that he’d imagined after staring too long at the sun. She led him down a dirt path and past a thicket of overgrown trees. He felt her shiver hard when they found the abandoned car. The paint had peeled and faded to a greying blue, all four tires had been removed, and it remained decorated in dried leaves and stray branches.

“You drove for two hours to show me a shitty car?”

“Yup.”

“Y’know, you never cease to amaze me.”

She snorted, pulling her hand away. “Likewise, cowboy.”

The windows of the car had been smashed—save the windshield—and Nisha reached into the backseat and pulled out a black trash bag.

“Is there a dead body in there?” He guessed.

She rolled her eyes. “You caught me.”

She dropped the bag at his feet, still eyeing it with suspicion. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d opened it and a severed head would have stared back at him. Actually, he thought it would explain a lot. But instead when she bent down to pry it open, he saw worn journals, fake id’s, and old clothes. She rummaged through the contents until she found what she was looking for.

“You are friggen’ kidding me.”

She held up the shirt she’d stolen from him so long ago. It was barely recognizable now with stains along the sides and holes along the hem. It looked almost as bad as the car it had been living in.

“You _did_ ask for your shirt back.”

“Yeah, well, now that I’ve _seen_ it, I definitely don’t want it. Yeesh, did you fucking bleed on this thing?”

She smiled playfully, “Could be my blood _or_ could be someone else’s.”

“Please tell me you didn’t kill a guy in that.”

Her forehead creased in thought, “Hmm, can’t remember.”

“Tell me we’re burning it.”

She seemed flooded with relief at his words, dropping the shirt back into the bag. She leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips. “There’s some lighter fluid in the trunk. Grab it for me?”

He shuffled past the overgrown grass, trying not to think about the millions of germs or bugs that had made a home out of the shitty piece of metal. He half-expected an animal to jump out when he pushed it open. It definitely smelled like thirty animals had crawled inside just to die. He grabbed for the bright yellow container as quickly as he could, shutting the trunk and scrambling away with a scrunched nose.

Nisha dragged the trash bag thirty yards away, waving him over with a flick of her finger.  He strided towards her, trying to decide which question he wanted to ask her first.

“Isn’t this all your old stuff?”

“It’s more than that. It’s—” She chewed her lip as she struggled to figure out how to word her thoughts. “It’s saying goodbye to an old life.”

“An old life of petty theft and identity fraud?” He offered as a joke but she cringed.

“Something like that…”

She took the lighter fluid from his hands, uncapping it, and dousing the bag with a healthy amount before tossing it aside. She slipped her fingers into her pocket and pulled out her old lighter and a torn up photo he’d never seen before. She flicked open the light, running the small flame along the edge of the photograph—he thought it looked like her at ten years old—and waited for the blackening edges to catch the flame. She tossed the old image of herself onto her things and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back as the flames raced to engulf her belongings.

Her grip on him tightened as the heat of the fire arched higher, its burning jaws crackling as it destroyed whatever had been left of her past. The dancing flames were the only light left when the sky faded into a dark blue, stars faintly twinkling above their heads. Nisha remained quiet and solemn, staring hard into the fire until she seemed certain that it’d leave nothing to remember her by.

She let out a slow breath, finally releasing him, and giving him a weak smile. These things of hers that existed miles away in an abandoned vehicle had weighed on her enough that she’d felt that they couldn’t sit there forever. She was finally letting go of those hidden burdens she refused to share. He’d only seen a glimpse of the bag’s contents but he wondered what other hints she was destroying? There were years of her that existed in different parts of this world—galaxy even—that he’d never get to feel, touch, or ever see.

“I’m ready, Jack.” She curled into his chest. “I’m ready to go home.”

\---

“How does it feel?”

Nisha had been engrossed in her bag of chips that she’d barely heard him.

“How does what feel?” She asked, tossing a chip in the air and catching it on her outstretched tongue.

“Becoming domesticated.” She was sitting across from him at the kitchen counter, eating most of the chips while he attempted to make salsa. She’d teased him for almost an hour over the fact that he despised store-bought salsa.

“Ugh.” She took out a chip and purposely threw it at his forehead. “That’s the fourth time you’ve said that this week, Jack.”

“Really?” He scrunched up his face in mock disbelief. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d say.” She threw another chip at him. “Stop, you’re gonna waste all the fricken’ chips!”

“Stop saying stupid shit then.”

He rolled his eyes, drawing his attention back to his newly diced tomatoes, tossing them into a nearby bowl. He reached for the onion next, sighing as he began to unpeel it. If his stupid eyes let even a single burning tear roll down his cheek, she’d have enough ammunition to tease him for an entire month.

“What movie we watchin’ tonight?” She’d gone back to tossing her food into the air.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is there blood?”

“Ye-ah.”

“Dead bodies?”

“C’mon. Obviously.”

She made a sound of approval, “Sounds gruesome.”

He’d learned the types of movies to lay out for her. She had to be substantially amused by the plot and there had to be a considerable amount of blood or death. He couldn’t get her to sit still for any classics. It had to be an old western or something humorously gory. Even movies like _Fight Club_ or _The Godfather_ had barely enough to keep her entertained.

“Well, I chose it just for you so you _better_ like it.”

“What’re you gonna do ‘bout it if I don’t? Strangle me?” She challenged, flashing her teeth at him.

“Hadn’t considered it but I’ll add it to the list of possibilities.”

She laughed, chucking another chip at him. She had distracted him enough that he hadn’t been paying attention to the knife in his hands, slicing his finger instead of the onion.

“Dammit!” He pulled his hand away from the food, looking down at his bleeding index finger in disgust. He turned to glare at Nisha who only seemed to be amused.

“Thought you were supposed to be good at this, Jack.”

“Yeah well,” he looked closer at the slanted cut, “you’re so friggen’ distracting.”

“My fault, huh?”

She jumped off her stool and made her way to him, grabbing for the hand to examine the cut closer.

“It’s not even deep,” she pressed lightly on the cut, covering her own finger with his blood. He made an effort not to wince at her touch. “You didn’t even reach bone.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Kadam?” he asked sarcastically, trying to pull his finger away, but she held him in place. She took his index finger and instead pressed it into her mouth, rolling her tongue along the cut.

He swallowed, suddenly more focused on her mouth around his finger than the pain itself. She pulled his finger from her mouth only a few seconds later with a pop of her lips, smiling as she tapped on the spot now devoid of blood.

“It _is_ my professional opinion, jackass.”

“What are you, a fucking vampire now? Actually,”—he paused— “that would explain all the bite marks you leave every night.”

She made her way back to her stool with a low chuckle, “You’ve never complained before.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not complaining.” He reached for a paper towel to press against the cut when the blood began to return. “Bet I taste pretty good though.”

He was able to finish making his salsa ten minutes later after Nisha had brought him a bandaid. She’d made a scene putting it on, poking fun at him over his whining about the situation. He’d taken the chips from her in retaliation and she turned to his cans of beer instead.

Things between them had been suspiciously good. They had fallen into a strange pattern of what he had mildly called domestication. Nisha had showed her disdain for the word but he could find nothing better to describe them. She had never seemed more relaxed or happier, finally admitting that she didn’t mind the city. He had even been able to drag her to obscene locations in an attempt at romance, and she at least pretended to enjoy it.

He had been moving the array of snacks and beer to the coffee table when he noticed her checking her phone. It was clear she was trying to keep it hidden from view, her lips twisting into a frown. He snapped his fingers to get her attention and she jumped hard, glaring before shoving the thing back into her pocket.

She walked back over to him, already leaning down for another chip. He’d asked her at least ten different times to stop eating all the food before the movie, smacking away her hand each time she tried to sneakily reach for the bag. They both kicked off their pants before they slid into their typical spots on the couch; his arm outstretched behind her head as she finished her third can of beer, crunching it in her fist before she dropped it on the table. She leaned into his arm before draping her bare legs over his own.

She kept relatively quiet as the movie played, laughing when she watched the suited killer bludgeon three train-goers. She made sounds of delight when the killer used a meat mallet to bash in his victims’ faces, even hitting one hard enough to cause complete decapitation. But her amusement and entertainment died anytime it shifted back to the protagonist.

When the movie cut to a scene of the main couple banging in a diner, she turned to him with earnest eyes, “Please don’t let us ever become _that_.”

“‘That’?” He repeated her words in confusion. “What does that even mean? Never bend you over a counter? Because, babe, we’ve already don—”

“Look,” she pointed at the screen, “she’s not even enjoying it. He doesn’t even know how to fuck his girlfriend.”

“Fiancé,” he corrected.

“They’re boring,” she added, shifting in her seat. “I hate people like them.”

He casually stroked her legs and gave her a confident smile. “We’ll never be boring, babe. It’s just not possible.”

She kept quiet until the couple was on screen again, groaning at their interactions, mumbling about the lack of blood. He’d been ignoring her complaints, trying to follow the story best he could, but he found himself _also_ impatiently waiting for someone else to die.

She clearly had other things on her mind because she moved in an instant, her figure suddenly blocking the television as she straddled him.

“Babe, I can’t see the movie.” He waved past her towards the movie behind her. Bodies had only just started getting dismembered again. When she noticed his eyes trying to look past her, she yanked his chin back towards her.

“The movie is boring.”

“That’s because you’re not watching him pluck out the dead guy's eyes.”

“Keyword there is dead.”

He prepared to argue with her until she pulled her shirt over her head and suddenly all he could see was her bare, slender figure. She leaned forward to dig her teeth into his lower lip, sliding her cool hands beneath his shirt—a clear indication of what she wanted.

It was a bit unusual for her to turn aggressive during a movie. Usually she could hold out until the credits rolled to jump at him.

“I got this movie just for you, y’know,” he continued, remaining nonchalant as she helped him out of his shirt, tossing it into a nearby corner. “You owe me four bucks.”

She curled one hand behind his neck, making it easier for her lips to meet his, while her other hand trailed down his abdomen and slipped beneath his boxers. It was pretty difficult to talk at all with her hand wrapped around his dick.

“Oh, I’ll pay it back.”

“Plus interest,” he forced himself to add, his mind jumping from her impish smile to her teasing hands.

“Stop talking,” she mumbled before shutting him with her tongue.

She was nothing if not persistent in her needs. She pulled her hand back up to rest it on his chest, choosing instead to grind her hips down into his until he elicited a groan. He could barely think at all with this much friction.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, shoving the coffee table back with his foot and holding her tightly to him before he crashed them to the floor. They both groaned at the fall; her back sliding against the carpet. Those few seconds without skin contact felt painful.

Her hands were at his sides, aggressively pulling at his boxers, disgruntled curses slipping past her lips. He tugged on her own underwear with conviction of his own. When their last bits of clothing finally fell away, she knocked him onto his back with a giggle.

“Still wanna watch that movie?” Her voice was low when she slid on top of him masterfully, a desperation for her building deep in his gut.

“Nah,” he forced himself to say when her hips finally made contact with his. She practically purred with pleasure and he could hardly restrain himself, digging his fingers into her waist and bucking up into her.

She arched forward, her hair draping around her face like a veil of darkness. Her fingers toyed with the mass of hair at the center of his chest while he tried to match her own quick movements. The distant voices on the tv were no match for Nisha’s own throaty noises; the ungodly sounds that left her were almost enough to finish him right there.

She reached for his hand that still held her in place above him. She pressed her own hand atop his, forcing him to travel up her navel, across her breasts, and to her throat. She pressed his hand to the familiar spot, her own fingers tightened against his wrist as she urged him to hold her tighter.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” she exhaled as she rolled her hips, leaning into his hand.

“I never am.”

He could barely keep himself together at all watching her writhe atop him. He knew he was close to becoming completely undone and knew he had to get her there with him. He tugged her forward, his hand still tight on her neck, looking for any indication she was as close as him. Her half-lidded eyes were bright with intoxication and his hand pressed tighter for a few seconds just to watch her squirm above him.

He felt her tighten and slow above him and it was enough for him to unravel inside her. He released her, his hands finding their usual spot above her hipbones as he angled himself to go deeper; his movements sporadic and weakening. She collapsed on his chest afterwards, their hearts pounding in unison.

“Is it just me or was that better than usual?” He ran his fingers through her hair, struck by how beautiful she looked when she reached a euphoric state of exhaustion.

She laughed lightly, her body shaking above his own. She was a comfortable weight on top of him that he never wanted to lose.

She turned her face up to his, resting her chin on his chest. “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or yourself.”

“Both. Baby, we’re friggen’ awesome!”

“One of us is.”

“Hey, we can’t all be indestructible, Nish. Some of us,”—he made it a point to point to himself—“can only be sex gods.”

“So now you’re a sex god?” She had that godforsaken twinkle in her eye. “Didn’t realize I’d gotten so lucky.”

“Yeah, you joke but I’m a hundred percent serious.”

“Oh, I know you are.”

She stared at him, her eyebrows drawing together in seriousness, “You ever think about where you’ll be in five years?”

He gave a tired laugh, resting his head back against the carpet. “I’ll be rich, famous, and married to the sexiest girl I’ve ever met.”

“Be serious, Jack.”

“I’m totally being serious.” He pulled his head back to see her frowning again. “Where do _you_ think you’ll be in five years?”

“Free, hopefully.”

“Free from?” He hoped for clarity, surprised by her sudden honesty.

“You ever hear the phrase, ‘ _The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children_ ’?” She wouldn’t look at him. “Heard that a lot growing up—hated hearing that stupid phrase. Never really understood it till I got older. We’re never really free, are we? There’s always something—or someone—that we’re running from.”

“Hey,” he sat up, changing their positions so she was comfortable in his lap, her head resting in the crook of his neck. He could see her retreating again—the way she had a hundred times before. Any time she’d attempted to connect on a deeper level, she dropped the topic a few seconds later. “Things are going to be okay, Nish.”

She sighed, craning her head up to give him a soft smile. She kissed him lightly, whispering affectionately, “God, you’re such a fool.”

They stayed like that until they heard the movie finally end, forcing themselves to finally move from their spots. They could barely make it to the bedroom at all, both half-asleep when they finally tumbled into bed. Peace settled around him when she nestled into his arms; her quiet breathing soft enough to lull him to sleep.

But when the morning rolled around he awoke with a massive headache. A long shower was hardly enough to silence the painful throbbing in his head. It wasn’t until he reached the living room, fully dressed and ready to go out into the world, that he noticed Nisha had disappeared.

With a hand pressed to his temple, he checked every room for her, expecting to see her sepia-toned half-naked figure trying to find her favorite lipstick that she always managed to lose. But he couldn’t find a trace. Their clothes were still scattered across the living room; their food still in their spots on the coffee table.

It took him almost twenty minutes to find the note on the fridge, in her familiar messy handwriting. The anxiety that had been adding to his nagging headache switched into annoyance. Of course she would take teasing him to an unnecessary level.

_I’m not as indestructible as you think._

She couldn’t have been more vague. He didn’t understand why it was so hard for her to write simple shit like explaining where she was disappearing to or when she’d be back. She enjoyed being elusive to the point of insanity. He ripped her note from the fridge and tossed it into the trash, hurrying out the door so he wouldn’t be late.

\---

She never came back.

He had to find out the hard way. Life had spurned him numerous times before, and he’d fought back against each hit. He could survive anything that could be thrown at him. But this was something that he could hardly stomach at all.

She’d been gone for three weeks when he finally heard from her—except that it wasn’t her at all—it was a news article he stumbled across after he’d collapsed on the couch from fatigue. He generally didn’t give a fuck what was happening in the city or on the stupid planet, but the title had caught his attention.

He read it four times before he threw his own phone across the room; an unfathomable amount of rage and despair overwhelming him. There were too many late nights spent being angry at her, so many long-winded rants he’d waited to unleash on her upon her return. Every piece of her that remained in that apartment had been reduced to what he’d called the “ _Nisha corner”_. It would wait forever for her to touch them: her clothes, her makeup, her growing collection of pocket-knives, her ratty backpack that still held all her cash.

_Twenty-two year old girl found dead by train tracks has finally been identified._ A fucking article title he’d probably never forget.

Of all the things she could possibly do, he had never expected her to die.

He’d tried in vain to figure her out over the months they spent together. But he’d been so caught up in her that he’d hardly noticed the minute details. He felt foolish that he could believe that they were okay—that _she_ was okay.

She had told him once with her head resting in his lap, “ _I’m the kinda girl that invites trouble_.”

He’d traced the outline of her lips, leaning down to kiss her. He’d mumbled against her mouth something about loving dangerous women. He’d been close then to finally telling her how he felt but he’d chickened out in the end. He convinced himself that he had more time.

_You were supposed to be indestructible_ , he thought bitterly. His mind flashed back to the moments he tried to ease the tension knotting in her shoulders, and the rapid movement of her eyes when they walked the city streets.

He tried not to think of the life fading from those glowing, cat-like eyes of hers. Tried harder not to imagine some stranger killing her in some back-alley and discarding her like she was nothing. He didn’t want to think of her at all.

It almost felt like she was there beside him, admonishing him for his anger. He could practically hear her voice in his ear.

“ _C’mon, Jack, didn’t you know?_ ” All he could think of was the day he first met her. “ _We always get what we deserve in the end._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _have_ to thank my best friend for beta-ing my borderlands stuff even though she's never played. She's such a trooper. And my sister who totally helped me put together all the little details.


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack learns about Nisha's nightmares.

“Calm down!”

She wakes with a jolt and a looming figure overhead. Her heavy eyes snap open as she tries to adjust to the unfolding scene she’s suddenly in.

Jack has one arm on her wrist, keeping it tight at her side, his eyes wide with concern. She feels the snap of annoyance curl inside her, so she sits up trying to awkwardly shift out of his grasp. He lets her go, his breath warm on her shoulder as he leans in closer. She’s still reeling from her nightmare.

“Nisha, wait!”

She’s already jumping out of bed, her feet unsteady against the cold floor. Her mind is transfixed on one thing and she tries to temporarily push out all the noise. She doesn’t know if the world is a blur because of how hard she’s shaking or if she’s still dreaming. The aftershock of her nightmare turns every thought into a river of poison, burning black spots into her vision.

The light in the kitchen flickers on as she enters, her urgent hands fumbling against the cabinets, searching for the first bottle she sees. She sees the vodka, grabs for it with every intention to drink until the world turns back into something she can stand. She takes it to her lips, letting the liquid burn down her throat and warm her senses until the buzz manages to numb her ailing body. She can hear her empty stomach protest the vodka with a low moan.

She takes another long sip as a precaution, turning back towards the door to see Jack enter. She rests the bottle on the counter with a languid sigh, watching his disturbed eyes regard her with unease. She tries to run through possible excuses so that he goes back to bed and forgets ever seeing her like this.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, taking a tentative step towards her. She follows his gaze and sees the dots of blood across her arm; an uncomfortable reminder of a violent dream.

“I’m fine.” She tries to keep her voice relaxed even though she has thin lines of blood running down her arm.

“You’re not fine,” he snaps, grabbing her elbow and lifting her arm up. “I just watched you fucking maul yourself.”

She considers the damage minimal—knows that it could be a lot worse. There had already been times when she woke up to cuts across her hands, glass embedded in her skin. That’s how it had always been. Each nightmare always brought along a new set of injuries. She tried to take the offensive and erased the memories as they’d happened. Still, her body would ache as fragmented memories would try to connect back to old wounds. But she didn’t care. She’d rather be a disconnected mess than let the unwelcome feelings take up any space at all inside her head.

“We need to clean this.”

“It’s just a few scratches, Jack.”

He doesn’t listen to her. With his hand still on her wrist, he guides her towards the bathroom, only letting her go once he reaches the tub. He turns on the water, the sound of water slapping against the bottom of the tub is almost enough to induce a headache.

“Take off your clothes.” A demand.

She has half-a-mind to fight him but he’s already within a foot of her, tugging her shirt over her head. It feels odd to have him helping her out of her clothes when she knows it’s not leading to anything more.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she says as she tugs off her underwear. He’s already peeling his own clothes off.

“Just get your ass in the tub before I throw you in myself.”

The water feels threatening as she steps in. She thinks that the water is almost hot enough to leave angry burns across her skin. She sinks in with a splash, the heat already working through the tension in her limbs. Jack urges her to scoot forward to make room for him, his body sliding behind hers feels hotter than the bathwater.

When she’s relaxed against him, he guides her injured arm into the water. She lets out a ragged breath from the contact, watching the blood swim out of her in sluggish swirls. Jack works his fingers down her arm, pushing out more blood. It looks like small creatures crawling from the slits in her skin, small bodies of red that disperse around them. The clear water around their legs turns to a murky brown. When he’s done, he pulls her arm from the water and rests it against the tub.

“Nightmare?” He asks while he runs one hand along her left arm, lazy affection with each touch.

She nods, pulling her stretched out legs back to her chest. Her legs are decorated with as many scars as the rest of her, aged stories in every faded mark. She can recount each scar’s beginning with a fondness. They were all born of purposeful violence. She liked that she looked like a battlefield, damaged and scarred to match her blood rage.

But nightmares were a different level of violence—one she couldn’t match. It tried to pull out a long dead, myopic version of herself that had barely existed at all. It was a hybrid of young and old, twisting together naivety and disdain. Whoever she used to be tried in vain to continue an existence in an unconscious world. All the fear and undiluted rage of a child built to be broken would awake when she closed her eyes, bashing their fists against her eyelids in a desperate fit to be born again.

So she hated them both: the nightmares themselves and who they turned her into.

“I’ve never seen you do this before.”

“Yeah, well,” she pokes absentmindedly at the indent on her thigh. She remembers some lowlife had managed to hit her with a corrosive bullet. She tries to remember the itching burn. “You haven’t seen me do a lot of things.”

“Do you have them a lot?”

She wants to lie. It feels almost too personal to let him in any further than she already has. But she doesn’t know if a lie would make it any easier.

They’re a tangled mess of bodies in the water, her complexion a stark contrast to his against the pale, acrylic tub. She’d never felt this level of comfort with anyone before. It was unusual to find safety in the curves of a body—stranger to indulge in someone’s touch for a reason outside of carnal desires.

“Yeah.” She pulls away from him. The bathtub is spacious enough that she can comfortably scoot forward and curl around her legs. 

“And…” She can hear the strain in his voice. Knows what he wants to ask. “They’re pretty bad?”

She wants to laugh but instead she bites down on her tongue, deciding how much of her nightmare she’s willing to relive. It’s bad enough that her mind becomes a morose mess that even a couple of dead bodies couldn’t fix. The nightmares are like an infection in her bloodstream. The only working treatment is time and alcohol.

“It always starts in a field,” she begins, trying to plunge her mind back into the darkness.

The field is always barren, stretching endless miles around her, a rotten smell sickening the air. Each intake of air feels like swallowing a stack of pins, sharp and painful. She expects corpses with each step, knows that dead limbs must be the foundation of the ground she walks. But still all she sees is the field, looming and desolate.

She walks until a hunkering mass blossoms in her peripherals, watching her with earnest curiosity. It’s that dumb dog she had so long ago, now a feral monster with broken limbs and a cracked skull. Its head bobs awkwardly as it stares her down, blood dripping from its jowls. She can feel its hatred burning through their shared air. She waits for it to lunge but it stands its ground, staring her down with empty black holes for eyes.

She can feel the weight of a gun on her hip. She tries to pull it into her hands, to feel her fingers slip along the cool metal and reacquaint themselves with her favorite weapon. The moment itself where she points the barrel at the creature feels like eternity freeze framed into a millisecond. There’s a nausea and fear sloshing together in her stomach and all she can think about is how many bullets it would take to kill it again.

There’s always the staunch realization at this point that she’s been here before. There is no certainty in how it will end, but she can feel it—knows it like the taste of an old lover rolling on her tongue. She can’t curb the dread that nails her feet to the ground.

She sees the hand punch through the ground, scattering clumps of dirt. It’s achingly quiet as she watches the body crawl from a hidden grave, proudly pulling each dirty limb to the surface until it stands beside her dog.

Her mother is a rancid corpse that stands in front of her with beady eyes of copper that used to remind her of a daylight dust storm. Even in death, she could feel her mother’s tumultuous temper growing steadily beneath the surface. There was no beauty in her decomposing form. Chunks of her scalp were gone, flesh slid off her fingers to expose bone, and gaping holes decorated her exposed chest where old bullets had been laid to rest. 

She gives a rancor bellow that seems to tilt the earth beneath their feet. It feels like a heavy punch to the gut and she loses her footing and tumbles to the ground. She loses her gun in the fall. It looks like a creature soaring through the air as it flies a yard away.

_“Don’t point that gun at me, Nisha!”_ Her mother’s voice still makes her flinch. _“Why can’t you ever be a good girl!”_

She tries to ignore her and twists her body toward her weapon in the distance. She would crawl through the rows of loam if she had to.

_“You’ll never make it.”_

She grits her teeth to keep herself from arguing and cursing. She knows how this story ends and wants to change it to something new. Her body feels like a stone and her legs uncooperative. 

_“You never did listen. Not a sycophant like your father. No, he was a coward. Are you a coward, sweetheart?”_

She wills her gun to her side as she pushes forward. She can hear her mother’s voice moving closer to her and she can feel the bile rising in her sternum.

She’s too slow every time. She feels the dog snap its wet mouth around her ankle, tugging her back. She tries to kick its broken skull with the heel of her free foot, slamming down over and over. It lets her go for only a moment before lunging for a new spot of flesh, jagged teeth sinking deep into her forearm.

Her mother laughs as she flails about, trying to free herself from her dog’s grasp. Betrayal leaves a hefty bruise on her soul. There was a time when this dog brought her peace in a home thriving on malice. The memories had gone cold now, boxed away with everything else from her past. But she still remembered nights when she slept beside her dog. It was the only comfort she ever had. Now when it peeled away her skin and tore at her ligaments, she could only think of how she’d ruined every good thing she ever had.

She fights until she is only blood-soaked bones. She screams until half her jaw is gone, her voice only short guttural noises. Her mother’s shrill voice commands the dog to take each chunk of meat and all her organs. The dog is adulated for a job well done when she’s finally still and silent, with only her heart left. She no longer has eyes yet she sees a pile of what was once her at her mother’s feet.

_“Leave her heart. It’s rotten. Useless.”_

She always wakes up as her mother turns to leave with her hundred pounds of flesh. She can still hear the sounds of flesh tearing in her ears, sharp icy stabs that prickle her skin. It still feels like she’s being watched even when she’s wide awake.

She almost forgets where she is when she feels Jack sitting up and pressing his warm chest into her back. She’s still curled forward with her hands wrapped around her legs. Her anxiety fogs her vision but the alcohol tempers it, leaving her quiet and withdrawn.

“Your mother is a friggen’ bitch.” He cups water in his hands and creates mini waterfalls down her spine. “Bored in the afterlife so she tries to haunt you in dreams? That’s like next level sadism.”

“Next level sadism?” She mumbles into her knees.

“I’d like to pop one right in her stupid corpse.” He tries to imitate gun shots and fails miserably. 

“Me too.”

“You know what you really need, babe?”

She finally snaps her head up, tilting her head back to see his confident grin.

“We need to find a quiet little bandit town. Something forgettable, y’know? Maybe we find a couple of morons drunk on cheap beer or—” he’s letting water rain down on her head now, soaking her hair— “we pick a clever idiot with a gun. Doesn’t matter. Whatever. The person isn’t important. It’s what we do to them.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Oh, just some light murder. We do the universe a solid and get rid of some garbage. Maybe it’ll pay you back with good dreams or something.”

She snorts at the idea, finding it hard to imagine. “What the hell is ‘light murder’?”

“Y’know… instead of bullets we bring knives or forks or shivs. We poke a guy a few times, let him scream or cry. Enough so that he starts bargaining, and then we stab him some more. We could take an eye or a finger.” She can see him getting amped up by the idea, his voice thick with imagined satisfaction. “I’ve always wanted to take someone’s ear. Gross probably, but cool.”

“So, a date?”

“ _Ye-ah_. A romantic day filled with blood, torture, and a few dead guys.”

She reaches for his hand, holding it in her own before pressing it to her lips. She doesn’t know what other gestures she’s capable of when she’s feeling so low, but he sets her at ease. Jack could seduce the unwilling with a few words, but she trounced him when it came to touch. She couldn’t make sense of the jumbled letters in her head, so she’d prove her devotion with a touch of her hand or prolific kisses.

They stayed together for a few more minutes before Jack began to complain about them turning into a disgusting, wrinkled couple. He got out of the tub with a hop, leaving a puddle of water on the floor. He made sure to wrap a tight bandage on her newly scarred arm, keeping his comments to a minimum. When he was done, he refused to hand her a towel and instead threw it on top of her hair and scrubbed into her scalp until her hair was a black mess.

She rips the towel from her head and scowls at him. “Stop messing around.”

He laughs with his hands up in surrender. “What? You look cute.”

“Ugh.” She uses the towel as a whip, smacking him in the chest. He fails to dodge her, still laughing. “Don’t start that shit.”

“Did I say cute? I meant adorable.”

“Keep that up and you can sleep on the couch for a week.”

She wraps the towel around her, feeling a chill before covering her bare chest. She makes her way past him, and makes a point of slapping his ass as she leaves the room to reaffirm that she’s the one in charge. His laughter is almost enough to release all the tension that’s made a home beneath her skin.

They move like quiet ghosts through the home until they find their way back to bed. Jack drapes one arm over her and one right beneath her, cuddling her tight to her chest. He feels feverish against her cold skin, his blood running ten times hotter than hers. She doesn’t mind the excess heat and finds herself wishing for more.

“I think you bruised my six-pack,” he mumbles into her hair, his thumb tapping to an unknown beat against her thigh.

She feels the derisory comment on the tip of her tongue. She’s tempted to poke him in the stomach and pinch at his skin while asking for some proof of the so-called six pack. A laziness pulls at her, and she instead keeps her voice light and warm. “Didn’t realize your muscles were so sensitive.”

“They are. My feelings, too.”

“I’ll be more gentle next time,” she yawns, wondering if she’ll manage to get any more sleep before they have to get up.

He chuckles. “You? Gentle? Never.”

“Shhh.”

They’re both on the verge of sleep, exhaustion sinking into them both. Even half-asleep, Jack slides one hand up her abdomen and lightly gropes her breast, sighing contently against her. She rolls her eyes even with her eyes closed.

“I love you.” He molds his body into hers. “And your boobs. I love you and your boobs.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she grumbles, ready to suffocate him with his own pillow.

He falls asleep quickly and she lies there in wait, wishing her tired mind could slip into the void with him. She didn’t want any dreams. She just wanted to sleep like the dead. A world of nothingness had its appeal when the alternative was a realm constructed to destroy you.

She was tempted to get up and make herself a drink just to feel the sting in her throat. She’d love the distraction, but Jack’s protective arms hold her in place. The sound of his unwavering heartbeat pushes away every other sound and leaves only him. She uses him as a focal point until she feels herself relax to the sound of his breathing.

Her mother’s comment about her heart being a rotten chunk of flesh wasting away in her chest was not far from the truth. She hated to agree with the dead woman about anything at all, but she’d always seen her own heart as useless. It had never done anything more than keep her upright and moving. But lying in the arms of her lover left her questioning the validity of the statement. If her heart was already dead, then why did it pound when Jack gave her that goofy smile? If she were truly heartless, then why did her chest painfully tighten with protective fury when someone rejected, failed, or betrayed him? He inspired feelings in her where none were supposed to exist. 

She finally dozes off with melancholic memories breaking through her disordered mind; her heart thumping to a new, steady beat.


End file.
